


Buzzed - See Nash Write: The Best of the Shorts

by SeeNashWrite



Series: SeeNashWrite: The Best of the Shorts [27]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 05:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16056386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeNashWrite/pseuds/SeeNashWrite
Summary: For my 300th follower celebration at Tumblr, I asked the Nashooligans for three words upon which to build anything from a drabble to a dissertation. The catch? Those three words had to make me cringe. Some really nailed it, some were unsure, and some just flat-out used things that make me *personally* cringe, but regardless, well… as they might say in Sparta, this was madness.This bit's words? Countenance, Deign, Supercilious





	Buzzed - See Nash Write: The Best of the Shorts

John looked at his watch again. The spelling bee was entering its fourth hour, and it wasn’t as if they could slip out. It was down to two: Sam, and the boy who kept asking for every root word, every definition, every alternate pronunciation. The crowd had long ago thinned; even the judges were exhausted.

Sam was frustrated, Dean could tell. It was in the eleven-year-old’s creased brow and set jaw - not at the words he’d been given, he’d nailed every one. The occasional mildly dirty looks that crossed his face were directed at his competitor’s back every time the kid would launch into his routine.

“…is middle English, in turn from the French ‘degnier’, in turn from the Latin ‘dignare’,” a judge was saying.

“Thank you. Deign. D-E-I-G-N. Deign.”

A smattering of polite applause, a nod from the judges, the kid sat down, and Sam was at the microphone again.

“Your word is supercilious.”

“Supercilious. S-U-P-E….”

“This can’t go on,” John muttered to Dean.

And Dean began to wonder if Sam was thinking the same thing. Dean leaned forward in his seat, squinting. He couldn’t get a clear view of his brother, now seated, partially blocked by the other kid, who was standing and walking back to the mic, but Dean was sure he’d spotted something in Sam’s hand. He was squeezing a small object, eyes darting between the judges and the kid. When Sam’s lips ever-so-slightly began to move, Dean’s eyes widened.

Suddenly, he  _knew_.

Dean hadn’t told John that Sam knew quite a bit more of the darker world entwined with their own, of the things that went bump in the night, than John was aware -  _had_  for several years, by this point - and the brothers agreed it should stay that way. They figured the day would come when John would fully loop him in, versus just letting him tag along on hunts, whether because of Sam pushing it, or because their father had determined it was time, just as he’d done with Dean. Sam was a snooper and a knowledge-gatherer by nature, so Dean thought it better to sneak Sam some lore, slipping him some facts, the better option than having Sam’s mind running wild.

But then Dean realized as time went on that Sam wasn’t just amassing knowledge; Sam had been keeping notes, crafting his own journal - albeit a beat up, wire-bound school notebook - like their father’s, and Dean had yelled at him, thrown it away. It was too risky, John could find it, then both their gooses would be cooked. Sam had agreed a little too easily, in retrospect, as not long after Dean discovered Sam had been gathering various trinkets, charms, herbs - ingredients to spells, which he knew because the shoe box in which the collection lived was papered with sticky notes.

Dean lectured him again, went to throw the box away, pawing under the most recent motel bed, only to come up empty and look over his shoulder to find an arms-crossed, smug-faced Sam - he’d somehow known Dean found it, and had begun switching up its location. Threats clearly hadn’t worked, and so, fighting his nature, Dean resorted to pleading, even pleaded with that imaginary clown school reject to talk sense into Sam, on the off-chance his invisible friend was real and still somehow keeping watch. Stranger things, and all that.

And  _now,_ shifting in his seat to get a better look,Dean was beginning to sweat, believing Sam was reciting who-the-hell-knew-what in order to  _cause_ who-the-hell-knew-what.

“Oh god,” he groaned, leaning back in his seat.

“Yep,” John replied with a sigh, thankfully oblivious.

A judge sighed as well, right into his mic, not bothering to hide it, then spoke. “Your word is countenance.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

Dean began to scrunch himself down.

John gave him an elbow, whispering, “If  _I_  can’t go to sleep, neither can  _you_.”

“Countenance,” the kid repeated. A pause. “Can I please have—–”

The kid stopped cold, mouth still slightly open - but Sam’s mouth was closed, no longer muttering, his lips now in a barely-there smile.

“C-count… countenance… C-O-U…. C-O-U-T-A-N… E… E-N-C-E… countenance?”

The judges sat up straight, and the one who delivered the verdict seemed absolutely giddy. “No, I’m afraid you’re wrong. Mr. Winchester!  Please approach! Please spell the word! Please!”

Sam shoved what Dean was now certain was a hex bag into his back pocket as he positively swaggered to the mic, the other kid slowly stumbling to the side.

“Countenance. C-O-U-N-T-E-N-A-N-C-E. Countenance.”

The presentation of awards and photos of the first-and-second place winners was completed at lightning speed. Dean shot Sam a  _look_ and a raised eyebrow when the daze wore off of the kid and he started crying like a toddler. Sam replied with a triumphant grin.

It was dark when the Winchesters emerged from the gymnasium, but a tall lamp in the parking lot made the trophy Sam clutched in his hands shine as they made their way to the Impala.  

“Great. So now we get to lug around this hunk of junk,” Dean said, though there was teasing in his eyes.

Sam shrugged. “I like trophies.”

John chuckled, ruffled Sam’s hair. “You get all the trophies you want. I’ll find a place for ‘em.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is fuel! Let me know if you enjoyed.


End file.
